


A Land of Dreams

by midnightdiddle (gooseberry)



Category: Shadow of the Colossus
Genre: Gen, Gods, Hurt, Isolation, Loneliness, Resurrection, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-11
Updated: 2007-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/pseuds/midnightdiddle
Summary: He takes to touching Mono's face while in the temple, to tracing the slant of her jaw, brush back her hair.  She looks more alive with each piece of Dormin, and there's a near-flush to her cheeks.  At times, if he stands still long enough, holding himself up from the stone, the world sways, and Mono seems to breathe.At times, he forgets to breathe, and it is the falls from the colossi, the broken rocks beneath his body, the stinging of his sword and the quivering of his bow, that reminds him to gasp in pain.  Time continues, a never ending day with a sun that never stops burning into his eyes, and he wonders if he's the one dead, and if Mono's the one dreaming.--Wander-centric. Basically a bunch of lonely hurt, with no comfort at all.





	A Land of Dreams

Her body is heavy in his arms, and her skin is cold against his. He lifts her from the mat, an arm about her shoulders, and another beneath her knees. She doesn't move, or breathe, just as she hasn't since she held a cup to her lips and drank, the village gathered around.

The funeral shroud tangles about their arms, and her lips are white. He covers them both with the shroud, tucking her closer against his chest, and the fabric stinks of death.

Agro shies away from them both, and it's difficult to lay her body across Agro's back. Difficult, but not impossible.

He has learned, in the past three days, that nothing is impossible.

x

The land of the gods is forever southwards, on a road that never ends. He travels upon Agro's back, and Mono's body is heavy against his chest. Time never seems to end, and the days seem to last for years, the nights for decades. At times, Mono's hair will slip against his neck, soft and smooth, and Agro will shudder beneath him.

He stops counting the days, and waits for Mono's body to begin to stink. It is, he is sure, only a matter of time, for the land of the gods is far, and the human body is small. Still, times goes by, and Mono's body is the same, smelling of bitter poison and little else.

At times, he wonders if they are all trapped with a dream, and if he will ever wake from the never ending roads.

x

The temple echoes about him, and when he catches Mono from Agro's back, the sound of his gasp is loud to his ears. Mono is no lighter than she was before, and the shroud covers her as it did then, hiding hands and feet and face, hair the color of the sun-bleached clay.

He lays her upon a stone altar, and pledges himself to chaos, because ever since the village held out a little wooden cup, there has been no order in the world. It takes little courage to destroy his life; all it takes, he learns, leaping from a cliff into a chasm, is betrayal.

x

He doesn't recognize himself anymore. His face is pale, and his fingers are numb. His legs give out beneath him, and he clutches to Agro's saddle more and more, fighting to stay upright. His chest burns, then freezes, then burns again, and the world spins before his eyes.

He takes to touching Mono's face while in the temple, to tracing the slant of her jaw, brush back her hair. She looks more alive with each piece of Dormin, and there's a near-flush to her cheeks. At times, if he stands still long enough, holding himself up from the stone, the world sways, and Mono seems to breathe.

At times, he forgets to breathe, and it is the falls from the colossi, the broken rocks beneath his body, the stinging of his sword and the quivering of his bow, that reminds him to gasp in pain. Time continues, a never ending day with a sun that never stops burning into his eyes, and he wonders if he's the one dead, and if Mono's the one dreaming.

It is confusing, and frightening, to piece together a god.

x

He feels little of anything, and he remembers even less. There is her, laid out in white, and there is him, dressed in blood. There is the voice, ringing in his ears and mouth and chest, and there is the urgency, the pressing need, because this day cannot last forever.

There are less colossi than towers of light, and the world becomes a little less real, and a little less real. He would feel that he's being cut apart from his body, but he can't feel even that, and so he continues, in a haze and a dream. His hands move, slow and clumsy, and his feet stumble upon the stone pathways, but he continues, one hand upon the sword, one hand upon Agro's bridle.

Agro shies away ever more, stamping feet and the snap of leather, and so he lies his hands upon Agro's neck more and more, and his hands tremble, though he cannot feel it.

x

He stumbles, and he loses his footing, but he fights, and he dies, and he rises to fight again. He is losing something, because at times he can feel it, between the burning and the freezing, but it's never something he can remember. He forgets, while standing beside Mono, and while leaning in Agro's saddle, and while falling into the chasms, what he's lost, and what he's losing.

His skin is white now, paler than Mono's, and her skin feels as though it's fire when he touches it. He can't decide if it's because she is burning, or he is freezing. He wonders, hand against her cheek, if it's both. Mono's body is still, but her lips are parted, and he can't stop, because he's close enough to take the world and set it right again.

Dormin whispers and growls in his head, and he rides ever longer across the land, climbs and falls and climbs again, covered in sunlight and shadow and every manner of thing in between.

This, he is sure, is a little price to pay; there is nothing, he is sure, that is too heavy a burden.

x

In the end, he tries to crawl to Mono. She is upon stone, still as clay, and he wants to touch her, feel her skin, listen to her breathe and watch her wake. He wants to see her live, and know that somehow, he chained chaos and made it his. He wants to know that somehow, he's set a wrong to right, and that maybe, somehow, he might be forgiven.

In the end, it burns as fire and freezes as ice, and no matter how powerful the sunlight, the shadows grow and swallow his world. He bleeds, for everything bleeds, and he empties to a vessel to house a god, but even a god can't change the world. And what, he wonders, was he dreaming of, to think that he might do that which even a god cannot do?

In the end, he falls into shadow, and wakes into light.

It is not, he learns, the end of which he dreamed.


End file.
